Unexpected Savior
by SALJStella
Summary: AU. Adam is the hooker. Lawrence is the costumer. The costumer that's desperately seeking for something to make him feel alive, and sees Adam as the one thing that can save him, but still just the costumer. It shouldn't become more than that. But it does.
1. Prologue: Everyone Needs Something

**A/N: Yup, you guessed it, I'm starting another fanfic. XD I know what you're thinking; it's not like I don't have enough of them going already. But in my defense, I'm writing this with my fellow ChainShipper Readyornotxx! So… We're doubling the awesomeness! Or whatever! Either way, you're going to have two angry semi-psychos after you instead of one if you don't like it. ;) **

**Prologue: Everyone Needs Something**

Yes, it was stupid to come here. He should've known better. There's a good chance he's going to lose everything just to get a taste of something he's not even sure he wants, he just knows he wants to know if he wants it. And there's also a chance that he's already lost everything, because honestly, is there any way Alison could've bought any excuse at all for leaving in the middle of the night?

Fortunately, Alison doesn't care anymore. She looks over her shoulder, since they sleep back to back now, half awake, sees his jittery fingers on his shirt buttons, and just thinks that he's going to leave her again, like he's done so many times, and with that thought, she goes to sleep.

Lawrence didn't tell her. He has no problems lying to her, about work hours, his feelings for her, the ones for his nurses, interns, random girls he meet at bars. But if she asked him where he was going tonight, what the hell was he going to tell her?

_Honey, I feel completely unfulfilled. Don't get me wrong, we both know that neither of us will get anything out of this marriage anymore, I've accepted that, so that's not it, but I also don't get anything out of banging women I barely know anymore, they all feel the same, taste the same, and honestly, I feel like my head is going to explode if I don't find anything, _anything _that makes me feel alive again. _

That might upset even her. And that woman hasn't shown any kind of human emotion in the past ten years.

Lawrence clutches to the lining in his pockets, they're already damp with sweat, and he's disgusted with himself, not because he feels those looks on him but because he actually _enjoys _it. For Christ sake, what the hell was he thinking, what did he think he'd achieve by coming here? What if he sees someone he knows? Everything about him _screams _"client," how will he ever be able to look Alison in the eye after this?

They seem to be arranged by some kind of age order. Age and gender. The older women first, dead eyes gleaming from the darkness between the buildings, eyes of the ones who aren't even desirable as the most degraded, lowest people in existence anymore. They get by because they're cheap. And then after them the men, whistling greedily when Lawrence passes by. Baring teeth.

Like animals.

Lawrence speeds up. The youngest are the ones who don't even hide in the alleys, because they're still hot. If a cop sees them, they blow them, and they're off the hook. Lawrence walks up to them, worn down, dark emeralds glowing in the streetlight, smoking their cigarettes and bickering over the little food they have, and _god, _they're the most beautiful things he's ever seen for some reason, but his grip on the inside of his pocket doesn't loosen up, the nervousness remains.

This is definitely what Lawrence was looking for. But he's not sure what to do now.

His gaze swims anxiously between the slim, slender bodies. Okay. Okay. This isn't a big deal, people do it all the time. He's seen it in the movies. He's just going to have to… Act like this isn't scaring the shit out of him.

He spots one boy leaning his back against a dumpster, handing over his cigarette to a kid who - even Lawrence's heart retracts in pain at this - doesn't seem to be older than twelve. Lawrence decides that that's the leader of this pack, and walks up to him in a way he hopes seems powerful.

The kid looks up when he sees Lawrence's shoes next to him. A sly grin spreads across his face; he's used to this.

"May I help you, sir?"

His politeness, as fake as it may be, throws Lawrence off guard, and something about the red light in the doorway makes him feel less like a bad person, and more in an annoying way… Stupid. He clears his throat.

"How much do I have to pay?" he says and nods towards the huddle of adolescents on the sidewalk. "For one of them?"

The boy takes a drag from his cigarette. His eyes don't leave Lawrence's face one second.

"What do you want him to do?"

Lawrence shrugs.

"Nothing… Special."

"How old?"

Lawrence opens his mouth, and closes it again. Mostly because he's ashamed of himself, but the boy in front of him seems to take this as a sign of hesitation, so he stands up and throws the cigarette butt on the asphalt.

"Young?" he says, genuinely helpful. "Eight, nine? Four?"

"Jesus, no!" Lawrence says and shakes his head violently. The mere thought makes him feel even more rotten. "Like… Fifteen, sixteen?"

The boy nods and points his hand towards the opposite wall.

"They're in the alley next to this one."

Lawrence nods and walks in that direction. A little more confident, but still with that cold, slimy feeling in his stomach. He'd sort of wished that he'd get someone handed directly to him. Did this mean he'd have to… Pick one?

His expensive shoes feel wrong against the grimy street stones. The very air feels wrong on his skin. He never should've done this, he never should've done this, but he keeps walking.

Some gives him hateful looks, like it's his fault that they have to do this. Some strike a pose when he passes them, because they need him, and even though it's just the money they need, Lawrence finally feels the thrill he went here searching for jolting through his chest.

_I'm needed. _

And then there are those like Adam Faulkner, who just stands next to a dumpster, his head fallen back against the wall in a silent defeat, chain smoking and completely indifferent to everything. Or, he shouldn't say "those," since there's no one like him, no one who can just stand there and still radiate with dark energy that makes him shine through the darkness without even doing anything. But to Lawrence, he's still just "one of them," since Adam hasn't changed him yet. He's still just the hooker, and Lawrence still the client, and that's what makes Lawrence walk up to him, feeling again, alive.

And that's what's going to change everything. The second Adam straightens up and meets Lawrence's gaze, nothing no longer is, or ever will be, like it was before.


	2. Animal I Have Become

**A/N: Heyyy, guess who's back with a new chapter? Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No, it's the amazzzzing Stella and Madi! This particular chapter is written by Madi, so of course, it's wonderfully amazing and spectacular, and I hope you're going to think so, too. :)**

**1: The Animal I Have Become**

Lawrence literally goes through a cycle in his day.

Because, most of the time, he does the same thing every single day.

Wake up. Get up before Allison is even awake. Shower. Drink one cup of coffee and leave the other forgotten cup on the counter. Kiss Allison and Diana bye before they're even really awake. Drive to work. Work, performing surgeries, filing charts, everything that a doctor has to do on his typical day off.

And whenever Lawrence first became a neurosurgeon, it was custom in his cycle to come home, fall into bed exhausted without even taking off his work clothes. He'd bury his face in his pillow. Close his eyes. Maybe think about his day for a little while. Appreciate the perfect job and life he'd been given. Let Allison stroke his back the way he likes.

Things were different then. Maybe Lawrence was different then, too.

Now it's custom for him to come home late at night, so late that he only sees a glimpse of his beloved daughter. She's missing from his life nowadays. A person in the family photo on their nightstand that you just look at and think, _Where the hell have they been?_

Does Lawrence love his daughter? Yes.

Does Lawrence wish he could spend more time with her? Of course.

Can he? No.

There's too much going on in his job for him to even barely make a glance at Allison and Diana. He's lucky if he even gets to speak to them within the day.

Sometimes Lawrence gets a day off, but very, very rarely. He'll take Diana out for ice cream or take her to Claire's at the mall so she can buy more earrings. He'll raise his daughter up and onto his shoulders sometimes. And Diana will grin and giggle, and Lawrence will give his daughter that awkward, fatherly smile before they come home and everything is shattered.

He hasn't spent much time with Allison lately. And there's a reason for that.

Lawrence doesn't like to look into her eyes.

Because, within that frosty, frigid gaze, he sees himself. Exposed as what he really is.

Dr. Gordon, not Lawrence Gordon.

Lawrence Gordon is a man who has an infinitive, extending love for his wife and daughter, and that he would go to the ends of the Earth just to protect them. To be with them for the rest of his life.

Whereas Dr. Gordon is the man that every medical student at the hospital looks up to, the most successful, impressive surgeon within those white, closing walls. The man who has to force an awkward, paralytic smile that's plastered onto his face like solid concrete. Inpenetrable until it just starts cracking one day. Dr. Gordon is the man who goes out, finds the perfect person, and fucks them because he's dissatisfied with his wife.

The Lawrence part of him has a conscience. And all that conscience does is fuck with him, gnaw away at his insides until he's just a hollow nothing inside. All the conscience does is bitch and bitch and bitch and make him look into an intangilble mirror so he _has_ to feel guilty. And while he's dissatisfied and fucking strangers, while the guilt, like maggots and leeches, erode the inside of his body, just for a second, Lawrence comes out and knows that what he's doing is wrong.

He _knows_ it's wrong. Like smoking or doing methamphetimine or crack or _some kind_ of drug. He _knows_ it's wrong. But he does it. He does it all the time, or at least whenever he gets the chance. He _knows_ that the only thing left of him now is the surface of his skin.

And he _knows_ he feels like a monster.

But Dr. Gordon makes up at least eighty-five of him. Dr. Gordon _dominates_ Lawrence almost completely. Still, Dr. Gordon is only a mere surface as well, for most of the time, whenever Lawrence has to be the calm, unnerving doctor guy at work. Dr. Gordon is the one who goes and cheats on his wife. Fucks with the erections of other men or other women. Because Allison won't show him a good time anymore. She'll just look at him, unspoken thoughts flickering in her eyes like minnows in a creek.

In some part of his mind, Lawrence thinks that maybe Allison _already knows he's cheating on her._ Because when she looks at him, she looks at him with this unreadible gaze, which maybe seems to say, _Is_ work _really where you're going all the time, Larry?_

Maybe she _does_ know. Maybe she just won't accuse him of cheating on her just so they don't have to get a divorce and bring Diana shooting through the middle of it.

Lawrence isn't allowed to get close to Allison when they're in bed, sleeping. She'll just mutter something sleepily, like, _"Not right now, Larry..."_ And Lawrence will scoot back over to his side of the bed, his eyes unusually dry, his arms wrapped around the two pillows his head rests on, his eyes wide open. He won't even think.

There's nothing to think about anymore.

He's not sure if he can go on living this way. Not being able to kiss the one he loves.

He's not even sure he loves Allison at all anymore. She's a stranger. Someone who just happened to be in the family photo at the time it was taken. Someone beautiful, but someone with one flaw in that beauty.

Lifelessness.

Or maybe it's just Lawrence who's lifeless now. Someone who longs to return to life. Someone who longs to live again, feel again, touch _something_ that will actually _let him_ touch it.

Lifelessness.

Yes, maybe it's him. Maybe there isn't really anything wrong with _Allison_. Maybe there's nothing wrong with _Dr. Gordon._

He's his own monster, seeking more life, more everything.

And he won't be able to keep it under lock and key much longer if this continues to go on.


	3. Eye Opener

**A/N: GAH, we haven't updated in forever, have we? Well, to those of you who appreciate our little sex-obsessed updates, I apologize. Madi-ness and I had a bit of a fallback writing-wise, but to make up for it, we have (drumroll) TWO chapters updating back to back as a decent apology. Sure, a sex scene would be an even better apology, but hey, there's no telling what's happening in the chapter after the next one… ;)**

**2: Eye-opener**

One very clear memory Lawrence has of a moment with Allison - it's basically the only one, most of their moments just flow together like ink on wet paper - happened the day after his first affair.

It had really been nothing. The last bridge between Lawrence and Allison had been faithfulness, and yesterday, Lawrence had been in a bar, he'd seen a pretty young girl who seemed bored and lonely, just like him, they'd started talking and then that last bridge hadn't seemed very important anymore. It had been nothing then, but Lawrence was still naïve enough to actually want to have an _open conversation _about it.

Why? He didn't know. Still doesn't. Once again, this was a time when he was still stupid and thought things could be fixed. He thought their problems were about a _lack of communication. Different expectations. Fear of conflicts. _

God, he'd been a moron.

"Ali?" Lawrence said when Diana had gone to bed and Allison was pouring wine for herself.

There was something different about his tone, he heard it straight away.

"Yeah?"

She'd heard it, too. The weird thing was that she didn't sound like she wanted to hear what was different.

"I have to… Tell you something."

She turned around. Her gaze was rejecting, but not in the way he'd expected. It wasn't like she knew he was going to say something bad, and prepared to yell at him.

She looked like she knew he was going to say something bad, but tried to tell him not to tell her.

"What is it?"

That look in her eyes. Her fingers on the foot of the wineglass looked so stiff that they were damn near skeletal.

Lawrence sighed.

"Never mind. It wasn't important."

Allison smiled, coldly as usual but still almost grateful, and turned around to put the wine away. Lawrence didn't try to tell her after that.

He did try to stay away from the women for a while, though. He looked for other things. Work, of course, until the chief of medicine said she was going to send him to a stress-helping clinic if he didn't take at least one night off. Booze a few times, but he quickly got sick of it. It wasn't worth driving Diana to school hung over, drawing stares from other parents at the school.

Never drugs. He would never do drugs.

But Lawrence needs an addiction, it's as simple as that. It can't even be described as a void, that place in his heart that used to be for Allison. She isn't really gone, she's just become… Less important.

When they got married, she'd fulfilled something. Lawrence isn't sure if it were love anymore, it could've easily just been that he married her to make his father happy, but she had… Served a purpose. As horrible as that sounds. She'd done something for him.

Whatever that was, it doesn't seem as important now. Lawrence has a picture of Allison in his wallet where she's absolutely stunning, but he's kept it there for so long that it's gotten scratched and dirty, and he thinks that sums up their current relationship pretty well. His image of Allison _is _scratched and dirty, not just the one in his wallet. He can barely see it anymore.

Lawrence isn't sure. It can be anything. He doesn't care anymore. He just knows that he needs an addiction, and every night, he switches off the guilt, turns away from Allison's cold eyes and walks the streets looking for something.

Something.

It didn't take long to realize that sex was a good addiction. It was fun, he didn't get it at home and it was easy to get outside of home. Plus, it was one of the few addictions that weren't visible after he'd gotten his fix. What could go wrong?

Lawrence goes out every night. On bars, clubs. Most girls he picked up are half his age and so giggly and willing that he's seriously wondering just how severe their daddy issues are. The transition from them to guys in about the same age is barely something he even reflects on, he just discovers that the girls don't clear the dirt from the picture of Allison, and don't make it go away, either, so he switches to boys. What's not to get?

He has sex with guys half his age in alleys behind bars and in bathrooms at clubs. It makes perfect sense to him.

What doesn't make sense is that he's still walking the streets. That he's still looking for something.

Lawrence can't help it. When he finds his addiction, he'll know it, he's sure of that. And sex seemed so perfect at first; it was, after all, the number one thing he missed in his relationship with Allison, but whatever it is that's going to fulfill that not-void-but-whatever-it-is, sex is not it. He needs something else.

Allison's scratched eyes are still staring at him. Every step of the way.

One of those nights, Lawrence is through with his usual bar round. It's almost three o'clock at night, and he's sitting on a trashcan behind a restaurant. The guy next to him who's zipping up his fly is a waiter. Lawrence had tipped him generously and kept his hand on the table when he was trying to get the check, given him that look that everyone in these circuits knew, they'd gone outside and Lawrence had bent him over a carton of broken plates that had rattled with every thrust and it'd all been great, but now afterwards, when Lawrence sits there and tries to figure out if _this _is the one who's going to give him the answer to what he's looking for, something unexpected happens.

He feels something.

He's not sure what it is, but it's a feeling, fluttering beneath the remains of his boring lust, something there, and Lawrence almost cries with joy, but settles for throwing his head back and laugh.

He feels something.

The waiter, who's name Lawrence doesn't know, looks at him, almost terrified.

"What?"

Lawrence keeps laughing until he realizes that the waiter looks like he's about to run away, and then he leans towards him, grabs his head with both hands and places a big, wet kiss on the side of his face.

"Thank you."

"What?"

Lawrence laughs again.

"I want to hit you."

The waiter becomes even paler.

"Are you…"

"No, no," Lawrence cuts him off and waves his hand dismissingly. "I'm not going to. But I want to. I know what I want now. Thank you for that."

The waiter flickers his gaze uncertainly.

"Uh… You're welcome."

Lawrence smiles towards him when he stands up and straightens out his shirt.

"Go back inside," he tells the young man and nods towards the kitchen door. "They probably need you in there."

The waiter nods. He seems to think about saying something for a goodbye, but eventually decides that they'll never see each other again, anyway, and settles for walking back to the kitchen, his face down to hide the blush on his cheeks.

Lawrence stays on his trashcan. His face is turned up to the starlit sky, and his smile remains.

It's the most sincere smile he's had since his wedding day. Because he knows what he's going to do tomorrow.


	4. Parasite

**A/N: As promised, we have a third chapter here. I know, we kick ass. And so do you. XD **

**2: Parasite**

Adam charges one hundred bucks per climax. He's fifteen—it's not like he really needs all that money for himself anyways. He's got somewhere decent to live, and he doesn't call it a home, you'd never call it a home, it's more like a shelter anyways. It's like one of those things British orphans stand under whilst the wind and rain shower them in so many overdone films.

A shelter. A one-bedroom apartment, the living room Adam's room, the bedroom his older brother Matt's room. It's a great thing Matt's eighteen, able to provide for both of them with two jobs and cared for Adam, because their parents weren't enough, they were never going to be enough.

As soon as Matt had hit eighteen, he'd grabbed ahold of Adam's hand and told their parents that they were never going to fuck with them again, that he would call the police and tell them about all the stashed drugs if they ever tried to follow and hurt he and Adam again, but who cares, they never protested or followed the brothers anyways.

It's not so hard, living a broken life.

In a broken life, you can do anything you want for money and still get by. Matt earns his wages by working in the mall and dealing drugs, and he doesn't like it, in fact, he'll never let Adam forget that he doesn't like it, but he still does it.

He does terrible things.

But it's okay.

It's for Adam, for the sake of their two-person family.

And when you do things that are for the sake of your family, everything else just blurs or fades away. The law becomes nothing. It's a crumbled wall that a single earthquake sent ambling down.

And Adam earns his wages in a really simple, easy way. All he has to do is sell his body, and he'll get easy money. Besides, he likes sex. He'd lost his virginity way before he'd become a whore anyways. Sex is the mutual benefit that Adam and his client receive. The money is the icing on the cake.

Both Matt and Adam are whores, Adam is just the one who goes out and sells himself more.

He's got nothing better to do. No life more worth living.

As far as he's concerned, he's just an empty space. Walking through life every day with every other ghost, searching for the answers to what he's really supposed to do in this life, because it doesn't feel complete, it'll never feel complete without the answers.

He's fifteen. Feels like he's thirty already, having to sit around and smoke and think of these things.

It doesn't bother him.

He just wishes he really knew what his life was meant for.

When the nightmares he has are to an extreme level, he'll climb into Matt's bed and curl up next to him, whimpering like he's four, not thirty, not fifteen. He'll sit and cry next to his insomniac brother. Yes, he still has vivid nightmares, and sometimes, it gets the best of him.

When he has no one else to go to.

It's frustrating, because sometimes Matt will get angry because he's finally getting some form of sleep, so he'll just push Adam out of his bed and hiss at him that it was just a damn nightmare, get over it and go back to sleep. And Adam will trek slowly back to the couch, something huge pressing at his lungs, like the thought of either crying or going back into Matt's room and telling him to fuck off.

He shouldn't be here tonight. Everything… Everything feels wrong.

For some reason, it's not right.

Usually, when Adam stands in this alley he'll feel somewhat good about himself. He knows he's one of the better-looking whores, he knows that he'll most likely end up getting a new client tonight, and that'll be good. He'll get good sex and good money out of just standing here and looking like his ugly self. And while he's waiting, he'll have a nice cigarette, yes, it'll be the best cigarette he's ever taken a drag from because he knows he does look good here under the dark streetlight.

But there's something different tonight, something he can't quite put his finger on, and it's killing him that he doesn't know.

Adam shoves one hand in his pocket, leaning his head back against a wall and taking a drag off his supposedly perfectly cigarette. Yeah, not really so great now.

In the next few minutes, a taller, older, blonde male walks through the alley. He's obviously in his late thirties, maybe early forties. He's got an average figure for a male his age, which actually might seem to be an inadequate statement, seeing as how most males in America his age are obese.

So maybe he's not so average.

Adam flicks a cigarette butt into the concrete, never looking directly at the man, but he can tell his wearing a nice tailored suit, see those expensive shoes reflecting the shining light from the alley light next to Adam, and oh, he's probably a rich asshole who has nothing better to do than spend his "hard-earned" money on whores, because his wife isn't satisfying him. Because his life is so fucking unfulfilled.

Adam knows what this is all about. He's watched enough TV and seen enough people to realize what's going through their heads, to realize that nobody's ever happy, that everyone needs something to be fulfilled, no matter who you are, even if you're being fulfilled in different ways.

That's what makes Adam unhappy.

Everyone needs someone else to suck off of, you'll be sucking on someone and they'll be sucking on someone else. You could call it being parasitic. In fact, that's probably the most correct term.

And that's what makes Adam sick.

And when Lawrence walks all the way to Adam and stops in front of him, what Adam doesn't know is that Lawrence is not just another parasite.

What he doesn't know is that everything's about to change.


	5. My Little Decoy

**A/N: The planets are reorganized, hell has frozen over and the world has come to an end: LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, (probably mostly ladies) WE HAVE A SEX SCENE! Read and enjoy, or… Read and get horribly offended. Either way works for us. XD **

**5: My Little Decoy**

Lawrence looks at the boy in front of him. He can't really be described as anything but a boy, even though it's hard to pinpoint an actual age. His eyes are observant and dark like those of an adult, but his body looks young, lean on the brink of malnourished. Like he'd break if Lawrence pushed him too hard.

_So how hard are you going to push him? _

An evil little voice in the back of his mind. Lawrence slaps the thought away, even though he knows on some level that it is a very relevant question. It's clear just by the way he feels when he looks at the boy.

Still nervous, of course. But still an excitement that's not only on the level _finally I'm going to feel something, _but rather…

_Finally I'm going to control something. _

The monster that used to be inside him. It's moving forward in a speed that terrifies him.

"…Hey," Lawrence says in a strained exhale.

The boy smirks venomously and takes another drag on his cigarette.

"Hello, sir," he says with the same sarcastic politeness as the boy Lawrence asked where to find him. "How may I assist you?"

Lawrence looks down, tries to make it seem casual.

"I think you know how."

"Well, I can never be sure…" the boy says and eyes the top of his cigarette, like it's way more interesting than the boring guy trying to get permission to fuck him. "Some guys come in looking normal, like you, and then as soon as their pants come off they want me to whip them or act like a dog…"

He says it completely without humor. Lawrence sighs, sick of the games. Or, rather, the monster is.

"What's your name?" he asks curtly.

The boy looks at him now, hearing the new determination in his voice.

"Adam."

"Adam," Lawrence says. "I want nothing uncommon. I want to… Have sex with you. That is all. But first, I want to know some stuff."

"Ask," Adam says, almost sweetly.

"How old are you?"

Adam takes another drag. The blue smoke rises to the sky.

"Fifteen."

"And you're… Clean?"

"Define 'clean,'" Adam says.

"Are you on drugs?"

"Nope."

"And you haven't caught anything? You've gotten tested?"

"We get tested every month," Adam says. His eyes, that had almost become soft at Lawrence's apparent insecurity, now shoot back to his face looking strict, almost like a teacher correcting a student. "But if you think you can stick _anything_ in me without a condom, go find someone else."

Lawrence nods, and hates himself when he feels sweat gathering on his upper lip. _For God's sake, stay calm…_

The little part of himself that's still Lawrence, rather than this monster he'd tried to suppress all along, listens. Unfortunately, that's a way too small part of him right now.

Adam looks at him again as he drops the cigarette. The orange glow dies out when it hits the ground, soaks in the dirty water that gathers between the paving stone.

"You done?" he says. "Because I figured it'd be my time to tell you a few things now."

Lawrence nods again. _Grab him and fuck him right now. _

"Sure."

Adam leans forward on the dumpster.

"I charge one hundred bucks per cumming," Adam says, very businesslike. "Whether it's mine or yours. And we've already got the condom-part covered, but just to be clear: _Condom. Stays. On. At all times."_

He locks eyes with Lawrence when he says this. Bright grey shining in the light of the stars. _Kiss him. Make his lips bleed._

"Other than that," Adam goes on, and leans back again, "I know you said you wanted nothing weird, but again, just to be clear: If you're going to hit me or bite me or whatever, don't do anything to my face. I have to look exactly this pretty," he says and circles his own face with his finger, "when you get out of here. Okay?"

Lawrence nods again.

Or is he still him? None of the thoughts circling through his head are things the Lawrence he knows would think.

"Yeah, I get it."

That's all he manages to get out. When he grabs Adam's collar and forces their lips together, sucking in any inch of his warmth and his tobacco taste and his beautiful, beautiful poison, it doesn't even feel like it's him doing it.

The monster has taken over all together now.

Adam flinches when Lawrence grabs him, but opens his mouth out of reflex. Lawrence, bigger and stronger, easily dominates the kiss, pressing Adam back up against the trashcans, they rattle underneath him. He shoves his tongue deep into Adam's mouth, maintain one hand twisted into his collar but puts the other one on his cheek. Adam's hands are still raised, hanging in the air, almost like in defense.

They break apart for a second to catch breath, and Adam grins. Lawrence doesn't care. He just wants to keep kissing him.

And kiss him and kiss him and fuck him and…

"Whoa," Adam mumbles hotly, his lips brushing against Lawrence's when he speaks. "Eager, are we?"

Lawrence tries not to look into his eyes. The fingers that are still on his face scrape softly over his skin; he can't remember the last time he felt a desire like this to touch someone.

"Just… Let me do this, okay?" Lawrence says, and damn, his voice is already trembling. _He's_ supposed to be the one in control in this situation, damn it…

Before Adam manages to come up with some witty response - after just knowing him for about fifteen minutes, Lawrence has no doubt that he'd have one - Lawrence presses their lips together again, and this time, Adam at least has the decency to respond, parting his lips a little and hesitatingly bringing his hands to Lawrence's shoulders. And Lawrence, maybe just because he's never slept with a hooker before, or maybe just because it's what he really wants to believe, is sure that this means that he's in control again, that Adam wants him for real and he can play him however he likes.

But as Adam opens his mouth further and Lawrence's tongue again can explore the inviting, hidden caverns beyond, he can't help but thinking that it'd be easier to be in control if he hadn't been so… _Lost _in this fiery kiss.

If he hadn't felt his control slipping away with every little tingle he felt on his tongue, every new stroke of his hands against Adam's skin, because this kind of excitement doesn't allow control, the kind of clinical, surgical manners he's used to.

Lawrence is getting bolder with where he touches, and Adam seems to get swept up in it bit by bit, too. His hands go from Lawrence's shoulders to his face, and when Lawrence's hands travel down over his chest to feel more of his body, he releases a subconscious grunt and parts his legs a little, opens up to him.

_This is nice, _Adam thinks. He's always been good at letting his mind wander when he does these things. _Maybe not too hygienic… But… _

Matt had always told him that he should do everything the johns ask him too, no matter how sick it might seem, but one thing he should never allow is kissing on the mouth. Adam listens to him in most cases, and most guys that come here don't want to kiss, anyway, but this…

_It's not like I'm going to catch something, _Adam ponders on as he feels how Lawrence's arousal starts growing against his inner thigh. _He has a ring, so he's married, and this is clearly his first time, or he wouldn't be so nervous. _

Lawrence is good. And Adam loves kissing. He tends to forget that, since again, he doesn't get much of it, but when Lawrence puts one hand on the back of his head, pressing them even further together, his taste fills Adam inside out, Starbucks latte and sweet saliva makes him hot and wobbly and it feels like he could literally do this forever.

Lawrence, feeling Adam's tough exterior melting away, figures out right away how he can use this to his advantage, and he slides one hand into Adam's filthy t-shirt, releasing a shaky groan. Sure, his own control is slipping bit by bit, but so is Adam's. He can definitely use this.

_You shouldn't. You shouldn't take advantage of him this way. Sure, you have sadistic fantasies and you need to take them out on someone, but he's just a kid. It's not his fault, and he's weaker than you, you should…_

Finally tuning out to whatever annoying morals he had left, Lawrence grabs Adam's collar again and pushes him roughly against the cold brick wall next to them, Adam gasps weakly before Lawrence covers his mouth with his own again, and that little voice, that probably was the one thing keeping him reasonable, is gone.

"Jeez…" Adam whispers between kisses. He's finally sounding a little afraid.

Lawrence should be sickened by how much that thought pleases him, but of course, he isn't.

The monster inside him is snickering in contentment. And Lawrence doesn't care that he's spent so many years trying to fight that monster, because god, it just feels _so good… _

Lawrence leaves Adam's lips to plant semi-aggressive kisses and nips over his neck, feeling Adam hardening more rapidly, and now that his moans and timid gasps aren't even muffled by Lawrence's mouth, Lawrence's erection forms quicker, too. He knows that it should be Adam pleasuring him - he _is _the one paying, after all - but he thinks this is better than anything Adam could do to him. Feeling the slender body beneath him tremble with anticipation.

His hands travel down Adam's body, lingering at the places he knows will drive him insane, before stopping by the rim of his jeans, feeling Adam's breath catch beneath his lips as he delicately slides his hand into his boxers, slowly stroking his erection, making Adam's head fall back against the wall.

"H-hey," Adam chokes out when he's come to his senses. "Shouldn't I be the one to… _God…"_

Lawrence grins, if you can call it that. His face is making an expression he didn't even know he could.

Sadistic and emotionless.

Because he's been that way inside all along.

"Adam," Lawrence breathes, nuzzling against Adam's neck, finding a good spot behind his ear where he leaves a flushed hickie and causes Adam to moan again. "I'm not going to hurt you. You know that, right?"

Adam swallows, opens his eyes again to look at him. When they lock eyes, Lawrence sees it. Adam has no doubt in mind that Lawrence is going to hurt him, which is good. _Good. _

"Y-Yeah," Adam says, and squeezes his eyes shut again when Lawrence strokes his cock again, slowly. "Of course. I just thought…"

"Don't think," Lawrence cuts him off and puts his lips to his neck again. "Just enjoy it."

Adam nods, feels the lust throbbing in every nerve despite the cold sense of dread beneath it all.

There's something in Lawrence's eyes, an undertone in his voice, that makes Adam sure that this night, he's going to come home with bruises. Or worse.

But when Lawrence keeps kissing him, warm, wet lips on every trace of his neck and strokes him until Adam is trembling and pushing against his hand, he really can't bring himself to care.

Truth is, it's been so long since a costumer made him feel like this, he'd probably moan this way even if he'd been Jack the Ripper. And Lawrence must feel this somehow, or Adam's just shuddering more than he can register himself in this state, because Adam feels the skin on his neck where Lawrence is working crease as he smirks in triumph.

Lawrence pulls his face from Adam's neck to look at his face. He has to tip Adam's head back from where it's slumped against his chest, and when he finds Adam's gaze, it's hazy with lust and his fingers clench into Lawrence's jacket like it's with his final strength that he holds onto him.

Lawrence is so aroused that he can barely think straight. Let alone fight, or even be ashamed of, the monster he's turning into.

Lawrence takes his hand from Adam's waist for a second to make a fist, and then punch him unceremoniously in the gut. No need to break the no-face-punch-rule. This unexpected attack catches Adam by surprise, and he makes a tortured face as he bends over.

"Christ…" he coughs out and squeezes his eyes shut, struggling for breath.

He stubbornly keeps his eyes on the ground as he straightens up again. So desperate to not let Lawrence know he's hurt him. Lawrence has never wanted to fuck anyone this bad in his entire life.

_Do worse things to him. _

Lawrence turns Adam around, takes his condom out of his pocket and unbuckles his belt.

"Pull your pants down," he hisses in his ear, and feels the tiny body go rigid, then limp. With fear, or arousal. Probably both.

_Make him even harder. Then take a knife and cut a pattern across his skin. _

As Adam starts to unzip his fly with trembling hands and Lawrence struggles to get the condom on fast enough, he bends down, clamps his lips on Adam's shoulder and bites down, hard. Adam gasps in surprise, arches back slightly, and Lawrence uses this moment to force his erection into him and draw out an even sharper gasp.

_And now he's squirming beneath you. You feel it? Feels good, doesn't it? _

Lawrence's head rolls forward as he pulls out of Adam and thrusts into him again. He groans into his lover's shoulder before he comes to his senses, straightens up. Adam's put both hands on the wall in front of them to brace himself against the next thrust.

_Hit him again. _

_No. _

Lawrence puts his hands on Adam's waist, beneath his shirt. His skin is so soft, he wants to claw his nails all over him, give him scars. Make Adam as ruined and tainted as he feels.

Adam grits his teeth and bites back a groan as Lawrence thrusts into him again, gradually strengthening as he gains confidence. He feels the breath on his neck, hot as the devil's, and right below his navel, where all the anxious nerves and tendons seems to gather to a knot, Lawrence puts his hand to push Adam closer to him before he sneaks it down and strokes the throbbing erection, and Adam's moan is music to his ears, it's like scratching that mosquito bite so hard that it starts to bleed after spending hours trying to ignore the itching.

The cold of his wedding ring against his skin. Adam doesn't know why he's scared.

It's that look in Lawrence's eyes. He feels it, even without looking at him. And despite this, the pleasure's building up until it becomes unbearable and explodes into Lawrence's waiting hand.

Lawrence keeps fucking Adam, as fast and hard as he possibly can, can't come soon enough. The monster is anxiously waiting for that moment when Adam cries out and arches up against him, and when it comes, it relishes it, licks with its venomous tongue over Adam's neck, Lawrence gives in to so many of his sick urge he's ever had this night, but still fights some of the worst ones.

_Hit him again. _

Adam's dropped his head, like his every muscle is too drained to hold it up.

_Do it. Hit him. Kick him. Clamp your teeth around his ear and bite it off._

Lawrence grabs a handful of Adam's dark hair, and when his own orgasm blows him up into a million tiny pieces, he yanks Adam's head back, and when Adam screams out loud in agony, to Lawrence, it's like putting his finger in the wound of the mosquito bite and twist it with your fingernail.

They stay like that for a while, panting. When Lawrence pulls out of Adam and lets go of him, he tries to ignore how much colder he feels. Adam leans both hands against the trashcans in front of him, dropping his head again. He still hasn't pulled his pants up, and his with his over-sized t-shirt hanging loosely, so low that it covers half of his thighs, he looks more vulnerable than ever.

Lawrence takes the condom off, throws it onto the ground and lets it join all the other ones that have probably been inside Adam, in this very alley. Then he zips up, and looks at Adam again. It's quiet between them. Or as quiet as it can get in New York City, at least.

"Adam," Lawrence says.

Adam flinches at the mere mention of his name. And still doesn't turn around.

"Please don't hurt me."

So quietly that Lawrence can barely hear him, but still so sincere. Lawrence feels a soft chill of excitement that he's actually managed to scare him. It would've been enough to make him hard again, if he hadn't been so drained.

"Why would I hurt you?" he says with a small smile, well aware what his tone implies.

_I want to hurt you. I'm going to. Soon. _

He takes a step closer to Adam. Just that makes him even more rigid. When Lawrence puts his hand on Adam's shoulder, for no other reason than to torture him, Adam jumps, turns around and stumbles away from Lawrence, still with his pants around his ankles, so desperately that the trashcan rattle beneath him. Lawrence smiles widely, more sincere than he's smiled in a long, long time.

_He's scared. _

_Hit him again. _

Adam's trembling. He won't even notice it until about fifteen minutes from now.

"Please," he demands, he pleads. "Just leave the money and get out of here, okay?"

Lawrence's smile grows even wider.

He takes a step closer to Adam. Another. Time seems to stand still. The moon shines down on them and Adam's going to die right now, Lawrence is going to kill him.

When Lawrence is merely inches away and Adam's trembling so hard that he can barely stay on the trashcan, Lawrence sticks his hand into his pocket. When he takes it out, it's packed with bills.

"One for your climax," he says, and folds one of the bills out of the stack. "One for mine. And one just because you're my favorite little boy."

Adam's gaze is frozen on his face. It takes him a second before he remembers that he's supposed to take the money. When he's reached out a shaky hand and grabbed them, Lawrence smirks again.

"Sweetness," he says with fake adore, grabs the flesh of Adam's cheek between two fingers and shakes it roughly. "I'll see you again, Adam. Soon."

Then he turns around and leaves, and Adam stays behind. Not being able to think of anything. Other than the fact that he still hasn't pulled up his pants, he's scared of what Matt will say, and that he still feels watched, even when Lawrence has turned the corner and he can't see him anymore.


End file.
